A Friend in Need
by january sunshine
Summary: Covering between chapters 74 to 99. A few stories about the one person Mello could turn to when his life was falling apart. A Friend in Need. This Feeling of Madness. Just Making Messes. Harsh Sort of Sunlight.
1. A Friend in Need

**CONTAINS SPOILERS. PAGE 74 and upward.**

**_Author's Blah: _**So I finally finished the manga and didn't know what else to do, so I let my brain go off on its own at around one in the morning. Then this popped up, and it was originally a one-shot, then I contemplated turning it into a few chapters, then it returned to just being one. It could have a second chapter, but currently, I'm letting it stand alone. Tell me what you guys think.

Oh yeah. The gods Takeshi Obata and Tsugumi Ohba are responsible for the creation of the characters and the series, and even some of the plot of the fic. Really, all I own are the way I arranged the words (I don't even own the words!!!!)

Well, enough of my ranting. Enjoy.

**A Friend in Need**

**by Darkness Princess**

..**x**..

He knew he would risk it. He knew this was a rash decision, but he had only two ways, and one had an escape route. If his name graced that paper, it would all be over. If fire and destruction engulfed the building, he could possibly escape.

The bomb was behind him, the trigger in his hand. He turned to his left, and with a signature smirk, his finger pressed down. A loud boom rattled the building, smoke clouding the room as the concrete walls on two sides collapsed. There were screams, people shouting and others crying in pain, but for the most part, he kept silent. He couldn't scream, it was too dangerous to scream, and he let it get caught in his throat, choking him as he stood silently, body shaking.

Hot... it felt as if he hadn't been near water in days. His body shook in the feeling, the mask gone, shirt singed, glove burnt, the scent of burning flesh assaulting his nostrils as he watched as the figures in front of him lay still. Probably dead. He couldn't wait around to see, and so he ran, straight to the opening in the building, and leapt down from the second story. The landing was rough, but he didn't care. He needed to leave.

One of the cars was waiting, key in the ignition, and he could remember climbing in, and then everything blurred on the highway.

It was hot... painfully so... he was gasping in the car, hunched over the steering wheel, one eye straining to watch the road while another could barely open without sending a stinging feeling through his face. He wasn't sure how he managed to drive himself away from the scene, but finally, far enough away, he stopped the car.

Time flew by like hours when he realized where he had stopped, and who stood in front of him, with a look of disdain and confusion. Tall, at around five foot ten inches, with goggles perched over his eyes, neat brown locks falling over his face in a previously-combed manner. It took a few seconds of staring before one recognized the other.

"Mello?"

"Matt?"

"What happened to your face?"

"What happened to your wardrobe?"

A gasp, a wheeze, and Mello was soon slumped over the floor, right hand curved across his body, holding onto his face tightly. He gasped, struggling to fill his lungs with air. That was when Matt finally noticed his friend's depreciated state; singed, golden locks fell helplessly around his face, and his skin glowed an unhealthy pink shade, as if it had been ripped off. Matt couldn't even be sure it could be considered skin anymore.

"I went to Hot Topic," Matt replied calmly, kneeling next to his friend. A gentle, tanned hand reached out and brushed hair from the wounded face, his eyes examining the wound behind the shaded tint of his goggles. "You... set yourself on fire, didn't you?"

"Unintentionally," Mello wheezed. Matt sighed. Leave it to Mello to get himself in trouble.

Four years of not seeing the guy, and already, he was back to watching over him. This eerily reminded Matt of their childhood at Wammy's House, their orphanage, where Mello ran amuck and Matt followed out of pure curiosity. Mello knew how to entertain, knew how to have fun, and yet, sometimes, things didn't come out right. This was one of his attempts at mischief, a failed attempt. He was working on the Kira case, and he wasn't doing too well. When problems aroused, Mello would land in front of Matt, needing assistance of some sort, whether as a distraction for a snack raid or to help him get out of trouble, as an alibi and an accomplice; here he was, once again, needing assistance.

His eye, the one functioning as properly as possible, sent a small glare in his direction. Matt helped lift his friend from the ground, his eyes examining the damages. Raw skin or flesh, on his left arm, shoulder, back of his neck, the left side of his back. Matt was careful not to touch; he knew Mello wouldn't hesistate to bitch at him for inflicting more pain.

But the question was how to get him away from there. He could have used the car, but high chance was, knowing Mello, it wasn't a safe bet.

The brunette questioned it. "Where'd you get the wheels?"

"Stolen." Mello managed a smirk, but soon gasped again.

Matt propmtly gave Mello his jacket and helmet and took him home on his motorcycle.

..**x**..

Mello had slept for hours. Long enough for Matt to threaten a nice little intern at the free clinic into giving him burn ointment, as well as rob an old man and scare some stupid teenagers from loitering near his apartment. It was all moving rather smoothly, as he quietly crept back into his apartment, his shirtless friend crashed on his couch, and began to unload the things he had brought home. He had stopped by a convenience store for other necessities he knew would be needed with the second person in the house. After unloading them from the bag, he soon took the bottle of stuff from the clinic and stared at it.

Oily, white-tinted liquid, and he'd have to apply it to his friend's wounds? Mild stinging possible... damn, he forgot to buy painkillers. Oh well, Mello could rough it out. Dropping to sit on a chair next to the bed, he opened the bottle. Gross, it smelled odd.

But he knew what he had to do.

He just hadn't expected for Mello's eyes to bolt open as the blonde screamed and sat up.

"Just what the_ hell_ are you doing?" he demanded.

Matt just stared. The scar was still bright pink, looking tender to the touch, a bootlegged leathery feeling to it under the slick feeling of the moisturizer. "I got it from the free clinic. Hold still."

"Hell no."

Mello shifted back, but Matt knew that his blonde friend couldn't get far. Sure, Mello knew how to fight and would, but high chance was he was still exhausted, still in pain from the night's activities. As Mello moved back, Matt pressed forward, and before he knew it, he was straddling his friend, pinning him down as his hand gently smoothed the ointment on his injured skin.

Mello squirmed and cried out in pain now and then, once it became too much to bear, yet he didn't throw a punch, even though Matt left one arm free for moving.

Ten minutes later, Matt was sitting next to Mello.

"Feeling better?"

"Run out, get me some chocolate," Mello rasped.

The brunette wasn't sure if it was such a good idea. His friend had just been burned so deeply, not only on his face and shoulder and back but also on his throat from gasping at the fire. The gas mask kept the flames around his face, and he found himself struggling with air the moment the flames collected. He could barely drink water, yet he wanted to try his hand at chocolate?

Matt sighed. "Mello..."

"Damn it, Matt, just get the goddamn chocolate."

Like a faithful puppy, Matt left the room and returned with a bar of chocolate. Oddly, Mello didn't rip into the packaging and devour it like he had. Instead, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

"You freak."

"Shut up." Sniff.

Matt watched his friend smell the treat in his hands, ingesting his chocolate through his olfactory senses until he could eat them properly again. That was his Mello, and Matt would've smiled if he had smiles left in him. It didn't seem as if much had changed since they were back at Wammy's. Matt was there, waiting to do whatever Mello instructed, and Mello sat on his bed, seeming content with his snack at hand.

Both knew that simple moments like this weren't going to last, yet they didn't seem to care. The nostalgic feeling of being together as they had four years ago was good enough, when the only thing that seemed different was the scent of ointment over the chocolate and the burns.

Mello smiled over at Matt, a signature smirk on his lips, as his teeth pressed against the chocolate bar.

"What?"

"Up to a little mischief, Matt?"

"Again?"

"But this time, we can't get grounded. It's freedom, Matt, freedom."

Matt was ready for it. And even with fresh wounds, so was Mello. Just like nothing had changed.

**((9**..**owari**..**6))**

Yep. A pointless fic written really late, yet I just wanted to have something. I don't even know why I wrote it. The ending's kinda odd, and I don't blame you if you hate it, but read and review, people! It makes the world go round! ...or was that chocolate?

:) **Darkness Princess** (:


	2. This Feeling of Madness

**Yeah,** _DeathNote_ and its current characters, and probably America too, belongs to the **Shinigami Obata and Ohba**, to whom we all owe our love and fandoms.

And yeah, it's another random one-shot thingy; people seemed to like _A Friend in Need_ so I wrote a second one. It's not exactly a second chapter, but it could be since it fits the mood and stuff, so I went ahead and said it was. Plus, if I write a third, it would be easier not to delete any stories and compile things like this. Enjoy, you guys!

**This Feeling of Madness**

**by Darkness Princess**

..**x**..

It was hard caring for the independent. There were people, people like him, who were naturally brilliant, able to calculate plans and create solutions - if not only the problems - in seconds. They could work their way up a social ladder within months, carry out elaborate schemes across a country within days, threaten a president in minutes. They were people like Mello, those who wanted control, craved it, had to have it or something drove them mad.

This was that part called madness.

"You want me to... what?" Matt asked, eyebrow raised as he looked at his friend.

Mello frowned and looked at Matt, his right hand grasping the bedsheets. Slowly, he pushed himself up, hands digging into the fabric to release pain at his struggling movement. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, to think, but he ignored it and just sat up, looking at Matt intensely.

Matt could see the pain in his friend's dark orbs. Mello was struggling, on one of his lowest points ever, yet he still believed he had the strength to argue, to plan and place himself at the highest point of his game. He could barely breathe, but he could command. Matt didn't know what to do with him, except to keep him still. Planning or not, he couldn't put anything into action until he could move again. Matt gently placed his hand on Mello's shoulder, ready to guide his friend back onto the pillows, but the boy grabbed his arm tightly.

"No... I'm _going_ to sit up."

Matt could only watch through Mello's stubbornness. As Mello finally situated himself away from the pillows, he glared for a moment, then blinked a few times, his intensity softening, for only a moment. It came back immediately once the blond looked up again.

"I want you to help me. If you don't want to, fine... but see, Matt... this'll give you a chance to prove yourself."

Matt leaned back in his chair. "And what makes you think I haven't proved myself already?" he asked.

Mello gave a dry, forced laugh. "Matt... you live in this shack you call an apartment. You don't hold a job, you party, and you've probably picked up something from one of your floozies..."

"And what business is any of that to you?"

Mello glared, but forced himself from the bed. Uncontrollable; Matt was needlessly pushing Mello's buttons, and already it was irritating the young blond. His time away from Wammy's had given him a sickening feeling of pleasure in teasing others - it could've been the absence of Mello and his torture, or just a hobby he picked up - but he knew that now wasn't a proper time to taunt. Mello, injured or not, wouldn't tolerate it.

And he didn't. Matt found himself knocked onto the ground, his head roughly bumping against the chair as the blond, surprisingly strong in his depreciated condition, straddled him, his right hand grasping the collar of his shirt tightly.

"Hey, man, you're gonna hurt something more like that," Matt warned quietly.

Mello leaned in close, his breath coming in ragged as he huffed in anger. It was an uncomfortable feeling, with the lack of a chocolate scent wafting through his olfactory sense. Just a stale, burnt smell.

"You'd better just be fuckin' with me..." he said softly, dangerously. "Matt... you know me... I don't play..." Cautiously, he leaned even closer, almost laying flat on Matt's torso, as he placed his face near the brunet's ear. "You can't do this, you won't..."

The brunet couldn't help it. The closeness... memories flashed through his mind.

_They had been young, foolish... they had learned... experimented... felt... they were..._

He planted a soft kiss on Mello's neck, and the blond stiffened. Carefully, Matt's thin arms wrapped around the blond, gently lifting him to sit up. His hand tightened as he was moved, and he lifted himself forward, ready, willing to nibble on Matt's ear, when he felt the taller boy add stronger, deeper kisses on his pale, feverish flesh. Mello found himself gasping in, his hand letting go of his friend's shirt, and he looked up, before pushing himself away.

He couldn't handle it. Not yet. A lack of control made him crazy. He didn't allow Matt to start anything, didn't _want_ him to; anyway, he was tired. The movement alone had him exhausted, and his breathing was difficult once more. Matt held him closely, slowly lifting him to his feet, before helping him into the bed. As Matt began to drape the covers over him, Mello roughly grabbed his arm, pulling him down onto the bed. Matt blinked, then shrugged.

_Stay..._

_Sure._

Mello sighed, closing his eyes finally as he tried to fall asleep again.

**:x:x:**

"Chocolate. I _want _it..."

Matt sighed as he leaned back on the couch. Mello had so _kindly_ suggested that they move from the living room and open a window, due to the stale scent wafting throughout the house, of ointment and smoke and uneaten chocolate bars and newspaper clippings and electronics burning from overuse. The window brought in the smell of a cleaner city, less smoke and pollution than New York and Los Angeles had brought either of them.

It was rather nice. Or at least it had been, until the blond, stretched out on his friend, woke from his third nap that day, clinging tightly to the brunet's arm, eyes narrowed and dark as he asked for a sweet.

No, not asked. Mello _demanded_. And if he wasn't demanding, he was _stating_. Mello didn't ask for things.

He was too prideful for that.

It almost made Matt wish he could feed Mello like a baby bird and let him taste his beloved chocolate. The boy was pining for his sweets, reduced to the position of a mere child with an attitude problem as he stretched his leg out on the couch. Matt was trying to ignore him - he didn't feel like chewing chocolates and feeding them to Mello, who's lips were raw and tongue was tender. It would've been one crappy kiss.

_They had kissed before. Many times. Mello liked kisses, he liked to test different styles; Matt was his guinea pig._

But when did this happen? An unwell Mello stretched out with his head in Matt's lap, as the taller boy played on his PlayStation. He was killing zombies again, and the blond was pining. Complaining miserably as he looked at his friend's hand, tugging the striped sleeves, waiting for him, Mello glared upward. "Matt..."

"You can't eat it," Matt said calmly, bashing down the X and O buttons.

"I don't care. Get some chocolate, right now. I'll eat it."

Illogical. Completely illogical.

Since when did Matt have any power in this?

Mello was not the type to allow others to take control over his life. He was a manipulator, able to twist situations into working in his favor, able to sway minds and force others into submission. Now he was pining over denial of his sweet treat and Matt, who always - _always and forever, it seemed, he said once - _always listened to Mello, now sat and denied him.

The forceful blond would kill him.

A pale hand stretched up and snaked it along Matt's chest, up to his neck, cupping his cheek. Matt stiffened but continued to play his game, even as Mello trailed a hand across his jawline, then let his fingers dance across his Adam's apple. Then soon his hand slid across his neck, further down--

And grasped his shirt and roughly tugged him down to face him closely.

The screen flashed "GAME OVER" as he was coincidentally killed at that same moment.

Matt was staring through orange-tinted goggles at a glaring Mello, who remained only an inch from his face. "Damn it, Matt... I _want _chocolate, and I want it _now_."

Maybe this situation wasn't so mad. Matt felt submissive, and Mello was pissed. Typical.

Matt sighed and placed his hands on Mello's hand. "You have to let go and get up. They're in the kitchen," he told the older boy.

Mello loosened his fingers, then allowed Matt to help him sit up on the couch. Matt retreated into the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, he was dealing with trying to help Mello drink a glass of water from a piece of chocolate gone down the pipe wrongly. The blond wasn't a happy fellow; he hated the flavor water had, even though Matt argued that it had no taste. He had no purifier (it was a cheap apartment) and he knew the tap tasted oddly. America had funny-tasting water.

It only took a moment before Mello had splashed the water on his shirt and went back to struggling with his chocolate. Stubborn as usual, he was going to eat, even if it killed him.

Sometimes, Matt wished Mello liked ramen noodles as much as he did. If Japan wasn't producing mass murderers, the country was making some pretty good food. Mello used to eat noodles with him, back when they were little; he'd throw a chocolate bar into the mix, irritating Matt with the extra flavor of a sweet in the salty, quick meal, but he had grown accustomed to it.

Whatever.

If Mello didn't want the noodles, Matt wasn't going to force them down his throat. The water, probably later, but only to make sure he didn't die choking on lodged chocolate. That didn't stop him from bringing a fresh cup of hot, instant ramen and two spoons back to the couch.

"Your shirt's wet, Matt," Mello stated calmly, although hoarse; he was stating the obvious, and Matt knew. _Mello_ had soaked his shirt, and he was fully aware of it, the smug look on his tender face as he watched Matt calm into the room.

Soon, a prison-striped shirt was discarded on the floor and a brunet sat on the couch, cup of ramen in one hand, spoon in the other.

Mello grinned, and soon a chocolate bar sat in that cup of ramen, wrapper only a few millimeters from the cup's liquidy contents. Matt grimaced.

"Damn it, Mello!" he complained. "I don't want choco-ramen!"

_He always said that. He always complained immediately and he sometimes threw the spoon. And laughter always came, sometimes after dodging a metal projectile, as well as a witty remark._

"And you think _I_ care about which flavor of microwaved noodles you'd want?" Mello said smugly.

Matt narrowed his eyes behind the goggles and leaned back, careful of the melting chocolate bar as he scooped out a spoonful of noodles. He soon gave it a taste.

Common.

Same as last time.

Four years ago, four days ago, same difference.

Mello grinned and took the spoon, shoveling a spoonful of chocolate-flavored ramen into his mouth.

They both had the same thought with this one: _Delicious._

_And they always ended up the same way, too; half an hour later, a blond sleeps on a brunet's shoulder as he ignores drool and goes back to murdering his zombies._

So the roles had changed, but the madness didn't seem too horrible. It was just common.

**((9**..**owari**..**6))**

Yeah, another pointless little fic. I hope you guys like this, you've been really sweet to me so far!

I would like to thank **Spinereader** for the sweet critique on the "blond**e**" crisis; I fixed it! I also thank the following: **Koji, Maedhros, artemisgirl, spacehikariangel, Ronya, molliepup1,** and** adik4anime** for reviewing, since I lurvles you all.

Who knows. I'm having fun with these, they're all sweet and fluffy, maybe I'll write a third one. Perhaps, who knows.

**:Darkness Princess.**


	3. Just Making Messes

So the shinigami Ohba and Obata own the series. I merely write the fanfics... for no pay... man... I sooo need a job... -whine-

**Just Making Messes**

**by Darkness Princess**

..**x**..

"You need to lighten up some."

Curtains were pulled. A bed was unmade. Newspaper clippings and printed articles littered the floor. Old chocolate bar wrappers and discarded crumbs lay on the dining table, kitchen counter, couch, carpet, even the rim of the bathtub, accompanying the burn marks, ashes, and butts of old cigarettes. Matt and Mello didn't clean places.

They were always in trouble at Wammy's for not cleaning. Games were taken, sweets were confiscated. Here, none of that really mattered. It was Matt's place. No Wammy, no room checks, no actual need to clean. He was back in his living room, perched on the couch, now and then tasting leftover crumbs in boredom as he fiddled with a game system. It was sweet against the ashes of the cigarette, the taste soft and creamy against the rough smoke.

Behind him, a groan was heard as Mello reached upon another dead end. He was looking up more information. Matt hadn't been requested to hack into anything specific yet, so he sat and did nothing, and occupied himself with his games. Bored... very bored. Mello wasn't bored--no, Mello didn't get bored. Mello got frustrated. And right now, he was going to drive himself crazy with madness.

As if he wasn't crazy enough already.

Matt had to smile as he played, a sadistic grin forming when Mello grunted loudly.

"I don't need to relax. What I _need_ is to find Kira."

"What you _need_ is to not give yourself an ulcer."

Three seconds had Mello in his face, hand grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, glaring. The burns were still a raw, tender pink, but healing, the scent of ointment faint against the sudden wind of chocolate breathing in his face. "And what would _you_ have in mind?" Mello asked him angrily. Matt could only blink, blowing a small wisp of smoke into the blond's face. Mello tugged away his goggles.

"Waaiiiit! Give those back, Mello!"

They were chucked out of the window. "Fuck you!" And Matt was running out of the apartment one second later. Mello watched in amusement, sickly humored amusement, as Matt skipped steps and hurried for the goggles before anyone else swiped them. The little runts on the block were known for snatching 'lost goods', from drugs to twigs, and they would probably take the goggles and wear them around just to spite him. Grabbing them quickly, Matt tugged them back on his face, and looked up at the sneering boy in his apartment. He promptly flipped him the bird.

"Love you too, dork."

"Fuck you." Matt began to walk away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he strolled quietly to his motorcycle. It had been parked for convenience and security right underneath his window, close to the steps of the apartment complex. Hopping on, he thrust his key in and started the ignition.

"And where the _hell_ are you going?" Mello demanded, eyes widened in something which could be mistaken as worry. Mello was being cautious, Matt knew, and he didn't want his friend leaving him so quickly.

"Oh, I didn't know you cared," Matt replied with tired sarcasm. "Just... do whatever. But stay put."

"Fuck you, I'll go where I please!"

Matt ignored him and took off on the bike. He returned half an hour later to find Mello where he had been an hour ago--back in front of the laptop, a new print-out taped to a wall and completely destroyed by a highlighter eruption. The pink highlighter lay uncapped on the floor. Matt merely snickered and walked over to the table, shoving a pile of paper onto the floor. He then set down a bag and the sound of bottles jingled. Mello paused in his typing, then promptly resumed.

"Drinking is stupid, Matt," he said calmly.

Matt couldn't help but smirk. "And blowing yourself up is too. And living off chocolates, and trying to give yourself lung cancer--"

"There's nothing wrong with chocolate," Mello commented defensively.

Matt approached with a bottle and waggled it in front of Mello's face. The thinner tried to shove it away and continue working, but Matt's annoyingly persistent nature kept it in front of him. Annoyingly persistent. It was the only way Matt could tolerate some of his video games, when they bored him out of his mind but he was determined to win. That didn't happen often anymore--he just liked shooting things now.

"Mello... you ever tried Heineken?"

"I don't give a shit, Matt. Go do something important."

Matt sighed. "Like what?"

His blond comrade couldn't think of a response. There was none--Matt had nothing to do besides play games. Mello was still searching, and until he needed another source, there was nothing for his darkly-haired friend to do. In irritation, Mello snatched the bottle and took a long sip, then set it down.

"Go away."

Matt shrugged and walked over to the table to get a beer of his own. He couldn't help but smile when he heard Mello thirstily drinking the rest of the drink.

**:x:x:**

"Fucking hell..."

Dry laughter echoed through the mainly-empty apartment, accompanied by the faint beeping noise of an alarm. Something smelled like it was burning, and chocolate didn't quite taste like chocolate, but neither cared. One was on the bed, sprawled out with a bottle leaking from one hand, one was on the floor, draining the contents of another bottle onto a dry tongue.

"Wanna get me some water?"

"Nah..." came a tired murmur.

More laughter. Mello pushed himself to sit up and his eyes widened in shock. Matt merely tilted his head back to look at the smaller one. "Fuck... Matt... I can feel the earth _moving_..."

"Your brain's za only thin' movin'," Matt murmured. "Y'know, Mello... you look like a chick..."

Mello lifted a hand from the floor to give Matt a one-fingered salute and promptly tilted over, hair falling in his face as he landed on his side. He mumbled something and laughed again. "Fuh... you's gonna get it..."

Matt wasn't quite sure what he was gonna get, but he laughed loudly and withdrew an arm, struggling to roll over. "You're too wasted to do shit..." Finally managing to tilt himself on his side, leaning towards his stomach on his right arm, he lifted his head and smiled tiredly at the blond huddled on the floor.

Mello pushed himself to sit up, and soon stumbled to his feet. He took a few wobbly steps to the bed and tripped over the carpet, falling next to Matt. As the younger one snickered again, Matt merely shifted, in a series of odd, uncoordinated wiggling motions, until his head was next to Mello's. From there, he grinned tiredly.

"Matty... would you die for me?" he asked.

Matt lay his head back down, and it promptly flopped backward, against the side of the matress as he looked forward. He groaned slightly and shimmied his way down the bed a bit so his head was back on the mattress, and blinked. "Do wha now?"

"Die. Y'know, twitchin' and riggy-mortish 'n shit..."

"Sure... whatev'."

"You s'rous?"

"Speak Eengrish!"

"Sh'up! Matt..." Mello laughed as he poked Matt's face and watched him squirm. He soon spoke again. "You'd die for me?"

"...sure... Matty dun care..."

"Is that the booze talkin', Matty?"

"Damn right." Matt laughed again.

A few seconds of silence passed and Mello looked up at Matt, who was staring at the ceiling. "Matty..."

"Looksie, Mello!" He pointed wildly with the bottle and it slid from his grasp, dropping to the floor. Mello shoved him with one hand and stared with as stern a look as he could manage. When Matt's confused look became his only response, he grinned.

"Matty, I love you," he said with a grin.

"Gay weirdo."

"Sh'up!" Mello swung a punch and it missed, somehow, even though Matt lay only a few inches from him. "Didn't mean like daaat. Fuuuuck."

Matt grinned. "I know. And I wub choo tooo!" He managed to sit up and flopped onto Mello's chest, moving his face to shrink the distance between them. "Puck'r up!"

Mello's eyes widened as his hands found Matt's face and tried to pry him away. "Drunken fuck! Get offa meee!"

"Eeey... I'm not as think as you drunk I am..."

Either way, Matt managed to slap one sloppy kiss on his cheek and called him "Suzanna". After a landed punch to the shoulder, Mello stole Matt's vest and used it as a pillow. The next morning, he used the vest as a vomit-catcher, and Matt had to remind his sickly brain to never give Mello liquor again.

**((9**..**owari**..**6))**

And yay, another fic to add to this odd little collection. I don't even know why I thought of this, but I could picture some drunken skinny bishounen going "I love you, maaaan" and then this popped into mind. Plus, I think I should be somewhat consistent with my Death note fics, so I give you this!

I thank the reviewers: **adik4anime** (again), **pinkhearts** and **KMStaso**; for they remind me I'm somewhat loved out there. Sorry about the disturbing fluff, adik, but I think they make a hott couple. And they're just too damn sexy! (I'll try to keep it at a mainly friendshippy-level thing, but I make no promises! -wink-)

**:Darkness Princess.**


	4. Harsh Sort of Sunlight

...at first, I didn't know where this came from, but I gave it a few minutes of thought and it all came to me. I was planning on making this a five-ficlet series, and the populus demanded more. This is first half of the original-planned number three. I still don't know where _that_ came from, though!

**Harsh Sort of Sunlight**

**by Darkness Princess**

..**x**..

The sun didn't shine. It _burned_. It stood high in the pale sky, gleaming down in its heated glory upon all of those who walked the calm streets. It pulled the moisture from those who came close to feeling it, and glared down upon them, taking their hydration and using it to create teasing clouds that never truly kept the sun from bothering them a day or two after the rain. Then it laughed and beamed in glory, showing that even indoors, one couldn't escape the heat.

That was what Matt absolutely hated about the sunlight. The lack of air-conditioning in his apartment could've possibly been to blame, but he chose to ignore that. The apartment was having another power-outage, and as the landlady's husband and brother tried to fix the box and call for additional forces, Matt found the window as his only sanctuary.

The faintest of cooler breezes came through the window. But it was existant enough to make him sit by the window with a PSX in hand, fingers mashing at buttons, X and Square repeatedly as he slashed at a zombie. A particularly nasty zombie to beat.

It annoyed him. Mello had up and walked out. Though he shouldn't have felt annoyed, he did. After all, Mello was using his place as a crashing pad, using his hacking skills for business, and using his money for chocolate. That was basically it, nothing more, and probably a whole lot less.

He continued to beat at the small system, thumb shifting around rapidly as he forced his player to thrust the sword straight through the creature's neck. A head came rolling down its shoulders. It wasn't satisfying to just kill one.

_"Stop smoking. You'll get lung cancer or emphysema and die, and I'll laugh at you."_

And just one wasn't good enough. No, he had to kill more. He searched, and soon found something else to attack.

_"And your eyes... with the damn goggles. You game so much your eyesight's going bad. What did the pixelated zombies ever do to _you_, huh? And yet you just kill them like that! What the hell's your problem?"_

Slash, hack, stab. It slashed back, with its grotesque, rotting claws.

_"Can you even _see_? Orange-colored _everything_, that's so weird!"_

Matt's character almost died, but he pulled it back together to kill the zombie, reload, and raise his HP. This just bothered him, completely. Mello's uncommonly hormonal ranting as he stomped about on a chocolate low--they only had two chocolate bars left, and although Matt offered to go buy more _later_, Mello decided to save his resources. It bothered Matt as Mello stormed around in the heat, a hand on his burn, hissing in pain and yelling at the gamer.

It took Matt one sharp look and three words--_"Hot Topic, bitch"_--to shut him up. Mello had glared at him for a few seconds, brutally silent seconds, then finally looked away, glaring at the floor with dark orbs before he finally just stormed away.

Grabbed the keys, the helmet, and stomped off.

_On Matt's bike._

It was probably the heat, maybe the case and pressure getting to him, but it damn well pissed off the stripe-clad young adult at the window, feeling the urge to jump.

He felt like burning. Mello had already held a flame to him--no, not even a flame, a _flamwthrower_ to Matt's dwindling candle--and Matt couldn't do anything. So he didn't. He sat there and glared at the game while he decapitated yet another zombie. This one had ambushed him. It only took him a few minutes before he sighed and decided to take a break--his _Gamer's thumb_ problem was bothering him _a tad_.

Oh, fuck that. It wasn't even the thumb. His hands were fine, if not a bit sweaty from being inside the leather. In this heat--he was still wearing them in _this heat_--but they were good for playing, they had a grip.

He needed to get a grip. It wasn't that bad. Mello was just overheated, and a tad angry. And so he took it out on him. That was it.

But he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. It really was nothing. Just Mello. Mello was usually that heated anyway, but this bothered him.

He had insulted his _goggles_. The same goggles Matt had kept perched on his head for fifteen years--well, for seven, since he wore them around his neck until his eyes started hurting from the gaming (_no, Mello's not correct about that, damn it..._)--had been brutally tainted by the boy he decided to label a friend. ...that wasn't it, either.

He lit a cigarette and stormed from the window, dropping onto the couch to hear a crinkle from a discarded chocolate bar wrapper. Promptly, he let it join the others on the floor and sighed. The heat was almost unbearable in the apartment--though it was late in the year, the weather was always uncommonly warm in the apartment. Well... it could've been because they had been running the heat at full blast earlier, as Mello insisted on walking around in a sleeveless top, bitching every time the heated air brushed against his tender face, but Matt doubted that.

Actually, he didn't know.

But the sunlight burned him when he went near the cold, and he regretted rolling up his sleeves, even though he didn't tug them back down.

He just sat there and smoked in the darkness, in the silence besides his calm breath and the gentle whisper of the wind as it brushed through there.

It was a lot better being away from the sun, keeping his distance from the window, but it wasn't. The window was an optimal temperature for him--the sun kept the heat while the breeze and the cooler temperatures kept him from feeling like combusting. Nice and comfortable. Yet so painful.

He shuddered, burned out the cigarette on the couch--how he managed to do that so much (there were eleven burn marks on the back of the couch) without setting the furniture on fire amazed him--and went to the bathroom. Wasting time as always. Then he paced, then sat, then lay on the floor, then leaned upside down and tried to think of logarithms. Wasting time...

By the end of one excruciating hour, he was back at the window, arms and chest bare as he finally tugged off his shirt. And he sat there, letting the sun bear down on him, the cold air brushing against his skin as the heat attacked him full force. And somehow, it felt so nice to sit there and tolerate. He leaned his head out of the window, staring at the sky through an orange tint as he sighed out another ring of smoke. Boredom.

So this was death by boredom. Sitting and tolerating until either he choked on the third cigarette or there was only some end to deal with.

The sound of a motorcycle roared and slowed, and soon stopped. He heard a swear, and didn't even bother to lift his head.

He was starting to feel a sunburn reappearing on his pale skin...

Mello stormed into the apartment a few minutes later, looking, if anything, rather calm. Matt lifted his head to stare at the blond, who merely reached into his pocket to pull out a chocolate bar.

"Welcome back," Matt muttered coldly.

"Uh-huh." He trudged over to the couch, shedding the red jacket--so he stole Matt's bike _and_ the jacket he got from The Wammy's House? insensitive psycho-freak--from his slender frame as he bit into the bar. It hung from his mouth, barely staining his pearly whites, as he strolled over to Matt. And promptly, he sat down on the floor next to him and leaned on the adjacent wall.

Matt glanced at him curiously, feeling his cold facade melting when he noticed Mello's tired, relieved expression. He was definitely feeling less bitchy, and that made Matt want to know what happened. "So, where'd you go?" he asked.

"Places," Mello responded simply, reaching into a pocket. "Hey, Matt, look." He held up a small, wallet-sized photograph and smiled stupidly. "Remember this?"

Matt leaned forward, lifting the goggles to his forehead as he took the photo. He had to grin--he definitely remembered it. Picture day at The Wammy's House, a form of torture or joy, depending on how much you liked the flashing lights. They made Matt take off his goggles for every picture, and he had taken a pair of scissors and a lighter to each of his. "Where'd you get this?"

"Near."

"You went to see Near?" Matt questioned. "What the hell for?"

Mello pointed. "That. Plus, I needed to talk to _her._"

Matt had no idea who said _her_ was, and it was a tad frustrating. He ignored it, as he slid the picture into his back pocket.

Mello bolted upright, chocolate falling from his mouth--he caught it quickly--as he stretched a hand out. "Give it back!" Mello demanded.

Matt grinned. "Admit that my goggles are wicked."

"What the... screw you!"

Mello was quickly up and leaving, walking briskly to the bedroom. He was hiding the gun again in the top drawer, Matt could hear the lock clicking. He promptly followed, walking into the room as Mello turned to him.

"It doesn't matter if they're cool or not," Mello began, crossing his arms. "I don't like orange, and you look like a freakin' fish-thing with those on!"

Matt had to laugh as the lights finally flickered back on in the apartment. The refrigerator began its humming, the A/C and Heating system began to blast hot air, and the television screeched and soon a woman's voice floated into the apartment, talking about a local murder by gang fire. Could it be Kira? she was asking, but everyone knew it was the Bloods--even so, Matt ignored them and proceeded to laugh.

"Fish-thing? Fish-_thing_?" he choked out, grabbing onto the wall. "That's the best insult you could think of?"

"Shut up!" Mello whined, leaning back. He drew a foot up and perched it on the end of the bed, then sighed. "I haven't had any chocolate in, like, two hours! And it was too damn hot..."

Matt grinned. "Open a window next time, then! Or wear my jacket and stop cranking up the heat!"

Mello was ready to bitch and complain again, so Matt promptly silenced himself and went out to continue his game on the PS4. As he started in his hunt for a dragon, he heard the heat shut off. Even as Mello mumbled in misery and trudged out of the bedroom, to drop on the couch and mumble some more--bitching to the blank wall known as Matt over his 'even Kira wouldn't live here', piece-of-crap apartment--Matt couldn't help but grin as he killed some more zombies.

"Matt, did it ever occur to you that your brain could _rot_ from this much gaming?" he muttered.

"Am playing..." Matt sang with a grin.

Mello silenced after a little and merely started on another chocolate bar, and Matt grinned. He liked this sort of sunlight. He still briefly wondered who this _her_ was, but he knew where Mello always landed--right back next to him. Worked for him--_hey, dragon! Come for the slaughter, bitch!_

**((9**..**owari**..**6))**

And thar ya get it. Sorry for the implications of Matt/Mello, but I think that's sexy. So I'm a Yaoi Fangirl, sue me. Kidding, don't sue, I'm really poor! But review, please! I'm insecure, need that assurance that I don't suck! Teehee!

Oh yeah. I thank **Spinereader** for pointing out my mistake (fixed it!) and I laugh at the Brokeback Mountain comment. Never seen the movie, though, _really_ want to. And I thank **pandora029** for the lovely review, and yuuuuush, totally agree; most yaoi is smexy when it's not outright weird!

**:Darkness Princess.**


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